His World Burned
by chicken whizzees
Summary: "And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind." He does, and this time he doesn't need a homicidal Japanese demon to do so.


**A/N: ****Okay, so this is the first piece I've EVER written (well...written without giving up half way through). Ideally it should be read before 3x23, even 3x22, because it doesn't really follow what actually happened, or you could read it as if the episodes didn't happen? I had the idea for the fic for a while, ever since the promo for the second half of 3B to be honest, but I've only just written it. And yes, I may have a slight problem with including too many semi colons. Cover image by ohbrozey on tumblr.**

"No. Not her. Not _Lydia_" he begs.

Begging. What is the use of merely begging? Begging when the person listening is in command of your entire body, when they invade your mind, and when nothing can be done but to watch hopelessly as the scene unravels. So he screams because maybe they can hear it. Maybe if he tries hard enough they'll see that somewhere inside that psychotic, maniacal, sadistic exterior there is a Stiles. But it's no use; he beats his fists against his body; he tries to do something – _anything_ to stop nogitsune.

Yet it doesn't work, it never does. Stiles couldn't stop the flies, he couldn't stop the nogitsune from twisting the blade inside Scott, he couldn't stop it from manipulating his dad, and he couldn't stop it killing the countless police officers that died because of the bomb.

And it makes him sick.

It draws its power from chaos, strife and pain, not only from everyone that it manipulates and but also Stiles. The nogitsune's main source of agony is Stiles; each time it turns everyone against each other, each time it orchestrates on everyone he cares for, each time it hurts his pack, he screams. And the screams don't stop, and they won't until it stops reaping his pain. The longer it possesses him the weaker and less hopeful he feels. Maybe fighting will win this internal war.

But he's been doing that for weeks, and it doesn't do a thing. But he has to, or Lydia's gone. They'll all go and the nogitsune won't be the murderer, it'll be Stiles. He'll gradually spiral into insanity and Stiles will no longer be the vessel, _he'll_be the killer. He'll be the one to mess with their heads, just as the nogitsune did to him, just as the nogitsune used Malia to take control over Stiles. He needs to win.

Winning isn't plausible and losing isn't an option. He supposes it's his entire fault; Go is not only a game of strategy, but of perseverance. Knocking over those stones was the wrong move; he gave the nogitsune exactly what it wanted – for Stiles to give up. It knew that it had won, it outsmarted Stiles and it had dominance over his mind. His entire mind, there wasn't an ounce of control he had left, he couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't do a thing. So how could he, _skinny, defenceless, Stiles_, defeat the nogitsune and stop it using his body to hurt Lydia?

There was a simple answer, he couldn't. He's being overpowered by something that cannot be beaten, something that has taken away the very thing that saves him. The boy's biggest ally was his mind and he has it no more – Stiles is utterly powerless.

He constantly questions it.

"Why?"

Why does it feel the need to tear apart everything he ever cared about? Why does instigating pain bring a feeling of elation?

_"Because some men just want to watch the world burn"_ Stiles thinks.

And his world is, it's falling apart and being left in ruins. Somewhere out there, his friends, his dad, _his pack_ are against the Oni risking their lives to save him. But they'll die, all of them will.

"Just like Lydia" it taunts.

She looks back fearfully at Stiles – no, at the nogitsune; this isn't Stiles with the warm brown eyes and crooked grin. This wasn't the boy she had grown to love, this was the nogitsune. The nogitsune – a demon that is currently dictating his entire mind, a demon that replaced those brown eyes with sunken holes and beady black eyes, replaced his crooked grin with a malicious smile. This wasn't Stiles, this wasn't _her_ Stiles.

With a broken ankle and using the walls as support Lydia staggers away. The temperature of the room does not compare with how she feels. She is cold and empty inside, not like the nogitsune, more like a girl who is watching her whole world being ripped apart because the person that made her feel warm inside is gone. The boy that made her feel special and would do_ anything_ for her is non-existent and all that is left is his body and a demon possessing it, nothing more.

It speaks with the same vocal chords that Stiles used, but not the same tone. It moves with the same limbs that Stiles used, but his actions are not the same. No, Stiles would never speak with such malice or even think of hurting anyone, of hurting_ her._ She carries on forward trying not to think about him. Lydia, becoming increasingly panicked with breaths more ragged, the nogitsune seizes an opportunity.

"What are the voices telling you?" it asked. "Are they saying that Stiles is dying? He is, you know. He's dying."

She knows it, she can _hear_ it. She can hear his screams, she's been listening to the way he thrashes about in his own body, and she can hear it all. Yet she still refuses to believe he's in there because it makes it even more tragic; being trapped inside your own body with no way out. But he's in there, and she needs to do something. But what can she do, she can't control the tears as they roll down her face, and she can't control her own legs as they buckle. But she needs to move, she needs to think.

"I need Stiles" she sobs.

It's too late, she can't move, the nogitsune is there and it's got her pinned against the wall with a shard of glass in hand. She knows what's coming next, and she knows she can still save Stiles; there is always a solution to everything even if it's not been found yet. The answer is on the tip of her tongue. That's when it hits her _scream, Lydia._

She screams, she screams louder than she has ever screamed before, it was ear splitting, shrill, and it saved him. He was gasping for breath and coughing up bandages yet again, however this time they weren't forming another nogitsune they just burned.

They burned just like Lydia's throat; they burned just like Stiles' whole world because Lydia was now the one dying. She screamed too late and the glass was now wedged in her stomach. She wouldn't survive, she would bleed to death – she would_ die_. Removing the glass would only make it worse, it would increase the flow of blood, and it would enlarge the size of the pool of blood. The pool that Stiles was now kneeling in. He had her in his arms and muttered words of comfort, convincing himself that Lydia will _live_. But those words soon turned into saying her name repeatedly and sobbing into her.

"I saved you" Lydia says.

_And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind._

He does, and this time he doesn't need a homicidal Japanese demon to do so.


End file.
